Reflections
by Brummie10
Summary: Like father, like son. Foyet returns and targets Jack. How will Hotch react?
1. Chapter 1

_I don't own any of the CM characters; can only wish that I did. _

**Reflections**

**12:58AM**

Looking at the dark-haired man sitting in an otherwise empty ICU waiting room, one might have been forgiven for thinking that he was a forgotten patient. His white dress shirt was covered with red blotches; fresh stains that stretched from collar to the un-tucked tail: blood. And plenty of it.

The man was sitting so his elbows were on his knees and his head lay in his bruised and swollen hands. Every so often his dark eyes would glance up at the room's only clock. It was then that the deep scratches and dried blood on his face became momentarily visible before he returned his head to its resting place.

To the untrained eye the man was calm, dozing even, he was sitting so still. But pausing at the doorway SSA David Rossi took one look and knew better.

"Any news, Hotch?" he asked softly, sitting next to his friend and passing him a bottle of water.

SSA Aaron Hotchner shook his head and tried to refuse the offering.

"Aaron, you've lost blood too. You'll be of no help to anyone if you go into shock. Now drink."

Slowly Hotch turned his head slightly to glare at the older agent. But it was only a half-hearted effort. Rossi could see the worry, despair and pain etched in the Unit Chief's eyes. He tried again.

"And after you've finished we're going to get that mug of yours patched up."

"I'm not leaving." came the flat reply.

"Hotch..."

"Dave, I appreciate your concern but I'm not going anywhere..." his voice faltered, "not until I know..."

Rossi felt a lump in his throat but he suppressed it, instead pouring as much confidence into his voice as he could muster in the circumstances, realizing that Aaron needed his strength now more than ever before,

"Aaron, listen to me..."

***


	2. Chapter 2

**2 HOURS EARLIER**

SSA Derek Morgan raised his eyebrows questioningly at his boss. Hotch nodded, his gun drawn and pointed in the direction of Apartment #601. Morgan, gun also ready, used his free hand to softly turn the doorknob.

-----

Earlier that day, US Marshall Kassmeyer had been found dead in a Federal safe house in Washington, DC. He had been shot in the head and stabbed. His wallet was missing. But he had not gone quietly; there were signs of a struggle. Chairs had been overturned and a child's toy broken. There were no other bodies but a page out of an address book had been found in one of Kassmeyer's pockets. The third entry was for a 'Haley Brooks'. George Foyet had made his move.

Media liaison Jennifer Jareau had watched her superior's face carefully when relating the news. Unsurprisingly, he appeared relatively unmoved although she didn't miss the clenched jaw and fists as he asked her questions while signalling to the rest of the team in the bullpen. Foyet had finally crawled out of hiding and struck with ruthless accuracy. Haley and Jack were missing, their protector brutally murdered.

JJ exchanged a look with Rossi. He nodded. The team would have their leader's back. There would be no repeat of what had happened in Louisville.

Ten minutes prior to Morgan turning the doorknob, the BAU team had arrived at an abandoned six-storey apartment building located mere blocks from the safe house. SWAT had surrounded the building and local officers had joined Hotchner, Morgan, Rossi and Prentiss in a soft entry. Still recovering from a gunshot wound to the leg, Reid had stayed behind at the BAU with Garcia. JJ was on scene to deal with any media, as well as the local police. They all knew that this was their chance to capture the Reaper once and for all. They also knew he would be expecting them. After all, he'd brought bait and left a proverbial trail of bread crumbs.

"Morgan," Dave had muttered under his breath as the agents donned their Kevlar vests, "I need you to look after Hotch."

"Always."

"Don't let him do anything stupid." Rossi looked with meaning at the younger agent.

Morgan understood. The Unit Chief would not be allowed to sacrifice himself needlessly.

-----

Morgan opened the door and moved inside. It was pitch black. Stepping inside, he remembered only a slight whooshing sound before pain exploded in his head and darkness came.

Hotch heard a soft groan then a thud. He paused on the threshold, ears straining to make out the tell-tale sounds of an assailant.

Suddenly, a light was flicked on. Blinking in the sudden glare, Hotch saw George Foyet, mask in one hand, Magnum44 in the other.

"Welcome to our private party." Foyet smiled and kicked the gun from Morgan's limp hand. "Agent Morgan wasn't invited."

Hotch kept his gun trained on the serial killer. A quick sweep of his surroundings told him they were in one of the smaller apartments; he could see into both the kitchen and the bathroom. He surmised the closed door in the far corner must lead to the only bedroom.

"Where are they?" the Unit Chief demanded, eyes returning to the Foyet's face.

His question was met with laughter.

"What does my profile say, Agent Hotchner? Am I a kidnapper? More likely they are already dead, don't you agree?" he taunted.

Hotch refused to rise to the bait. "Quit playing games. He moved a step closer, "This ends now."

Foyet's smile vanished. "'THIS' ends when I say it ends." he snarled. "Don't make the mistake of thinking you're in charge here."

"But I am." replied Hotch calmly, his keen eyes never leaving the killer's face. "You don't have the upper hand this time."

"Are you sure about that, my old friend?"

Something in the serial killer's tone and relaxed manner unnerved the agent. Nevertheless, Hotch pressed on.

"You're under arrest. Throw down the mask and your weapons."

Foyet chuckled. "Maybe I'll leave you the mask this time. I know the fond memories it brings back. But you're not going to arrest me."

"What makes you think that?" Hotch's voice was neutral but fear pricked at the back of his neck. Some-thing was off. Foyet was too calm, too confident.

"Because I know that you would never choose me over your son."

Panic threatened to engulf the profiler but knowing that was exactly the desired reaction, he narrowed his eyes and took another step towards his nemesis.

"I'll ask you again. Where is he?" Hotch hissed.

"Now now, no need to get hostile." The Reaper grinned menacingly. "Let me show you that I'm not narcissistic ALL the time. I can think of others."

He stepped backwards, towards the closed door. Hotch matched his step. The two adversaries kept their weapons trained on the other, both moving cautiously. Reaching the door, Foyet paused, humming to himself.

"Like father, like son." He said softly, pushing open the door with a flourish.

Hotch looked past Foyet into the room... and into his worst nightmare. A small form lay on his back on the bed, the sole piece of furniture. He had sandy brown hair and was wearing a yellow t-shirt. At least, it had been yellow. Two dark, wet patches covered one side of his chest and belly. An all-too familiar knife rested next to the body, its tip covered with the same deep red substance.

Hotch simply stared, his brain unable to comprehend the horror he was seeing.

"He's still alive." Foyet's voice brought Aaron sharply back to reality. "As I've told you, I'm excellent with a knife. And he wasn't awake like you were so more relaxed. But he doesn't have long; he's losing a lot of blood. And since Agent Morgan can't help you, you'll have to choose..."

He stopped, enjoying immensely the sight of Hotchner's face as it drained of colour. "So who will it be, Agent Hotchner?"

There was another moment of silence then Hotch let his gun slip through his fingers onto the floor.

"Jack..." he said hoarsely.

Foyet laughed and tucked his gun into his jeans. "You're so predictable Aaron. I'll just get my knife and be on my way..."

But the serial killer never got the opportunity to finish his sentence. Months of pent up rage, frustration and hopelessness had finally found an outlet and came pouring out of the FBI agent.

"Jack, hold on buddy!" shouted Hotch as his fist connected with Foyet's face.

The killer was taken completely off guard and dropped to his knees. He started to reach for his gun. Hotch was on him in seconds, ripping the Magnum44 out of Foyet's hand and tossing it away. But the Reaper was far from giving in. He tore the communicator from the agent's ear and landed a punch of his own. Hotch grunted but didn't let go. The two men rolled on the floor, exchanging blows, each fighting with hatred and everything they possessed to gain the advantage.

"You're wasting valuable time." Foyet slurred through a bloodied mouth. He grinned, showing new spaces where teeth had sat only moments earlier. Then he reached up, attempting to gauge Hotch's eyes. He missed his target but instead dug into the profiler's cheek and raked his nails down the side of Aaron's face. It was a costly mistake.

Like a caged animal suddenly freed, the surge of adrenaline induced by the taste of his own blood unleashed a second round of fury. With a supreme effort, Hotch pushed the killer off him, snatched his gun from the floor and used it to smash Foyet across the side of his head. The Reaper was unconscious before he hit the ground.

Panting, the agent turned Foyet onto his front and roughly cuffed his hands behind his back. His prisoner secured, he collected the guns and shedding his vest, staggered to the bedside. The fight had lasted less than 5 minutes.

"Jack? Jack, it's daddy. Wake up!"

He felt desperately for a pulse.

"Come on son..."

Just as he managed to find faint thudding under his fingers, Hotch also heard a low cry.

"Jack!"

"Da... ddy..?" The voice came out as a wheeze. It was weak and distant.

Hotch's heart melted but he wasted no time knowing Jack's life was still in the balance.

"Shh, don't try to talk. I'm going to get you out of here."

"It... hurts..."

Hotch closed his eyes to blink away sudden tears. "I know, buddy. But the doctor will fix you up good as new." He stroked Jack's face briefly. "Now I need you to help daddy by staying awake, okay?"

Ignoring his own injuries, he gently he placed his arms underneath the small child and hoisted him up against his chest. He expected more crying but none came. Hotch was alarmed. Jack felt no heavier than a feather and lay limply against his father.

"Jack?! Jack, stay awake, please."

Moving as quickly and gingerly as he could, Hotch began to make his way out of the apartment, pausing long enough to see that Morgan was starting to stir. Exiting the unit he cursed the lack of an elevator and hurried to the stairwell. It was no accident Foyet had chosen the apartment furthest away from the main entrance and the waiting medical help.

"Jack? Hold onto daddy's shirt."

At first there was no response. Hotch kept moving. He had reached the stairs and started to descend the 6 floors to ground level. Then he became aware of a slight tugging at his chest.

Relief flooded through him and egged him onwards.

"Good boy, Jack! You just keep hold of me, we're almost there. I am so proud of you!"

Finally, the profiler reached the end of the stairs and picked up his pace. He wasn't surprised to have failed to meet Rossi or Prentiss; he hadn't had time to sort out his communicator. Never mind, Morgan could deal with Foyet; he'd like that.

Hotch had just rounded the last corner to the entranceway when the tension on his shirt went slack.

"No, no, no." He breathed. "Buddy, stay with daddy. Please!"

Desperation propelled him through the front doors into the melee of flashing lights.

"I need a medic!" the Unit Chief screamed as officers raced forward to give assistance.

A path was cleared to the ambulance and Hotch was yelling even before he'd stepped on board,

"I'm SSA Hotchner. I need the nearest hospital, NOW!" he barked at the driver, surrendering Jack to the second paramedic and closing the ambulance doors.

"Yes, Sir!"

Hotch held Jack's hand and looked down into the pale face currently covered with an oxygen mask. He hadn't realized how much his child actually resembled him. Hotch smiled ruefully; even the brow was furrowed. He squeezed the small hand, listening disconcertedly to the laboured breathing and watching the erratic patterns of the ECG. He watched with increasing fear as the paramedic increased the flow of oxygen and began to cut off the boy's t-shirt in preparation for surgery. Aaron cringed at the sight of the two knife wounds. Scars were the last thing he wanted to share with his son.

"Hang in there buddy. Don't give up. Mommy and daddy need you and love you so much..."

Hotch wished with everything he had that he could trade places with Jack. And just when he thought things couldn't get any worse, his little boy stopped breathing.

***


	3. Chapter 3

**1:01AM**

"Aaron, listen to me. Jack is just like his dad; a fighter."

Hotch didn't seem to have heard Rossi. "This is all my fault..." he said miserably.

Dave couldn't bear to see his friend's face. He had known the Unit Chief would blame himself. _'Damn you, Foyet!'_ he thought vehemently. Aloud, he said, "Hotch, this is NOT your fault. Don't go down that road, you know better. The blame lies with Foyet and Foyet alone. You are the **victim** for Pete's sake! And let's not forget that you saved Jack's life."

The younger agent looked at Rossi. His eyes watered slightly.

"But for how long?" he asked softly. His voice cracked, "Dave, he felt so lifeless... there was so much blood..."

"Aaron, stop!"

At that moment Morgan, sporting a dressing on his head, and Prentiss appeared and took in the scene. Their supervisor was sitting with his head buried in his hands. From Rossi's expression, things weren't going well. The anguish was almost palpable. Wordlessly, Prentiss handed Dave a clean dress shirt from Hotch's go-bag; she was afraid to disturb its owner.

Rossi took the shirt and nudged the man next to him.

"Come on Hotch, let's get you cleaned up. The last thing Jack needs to see is you covered in blood. And he is going to need you to be strong."

Reluctantly, Hotch raised his head and started to get to his feet. "How's Haley?" he asked, glancing with concern at Morgan.

Morgan was unprepared for the sight in front of him. He had never seen his boss like this, not even when Kate Joyner had been killed. Hotch looked completely broken. His torn and bloody clothing and gashed face only amplified the pale skin, the dark circles under his eyes, and the lost, haunted look in their depths. It was extremely unsettling.

"Uh, she's going to be fine Hotch. Foyet hadn't touched her other than to tie her to a chair in one of the other apartments. The doctors have given her a sedative and will keep her overnight for observation. JJ's with her so you don't have to worry."

Hotch nodded numbly. "Thank you." he whispered.

Taking the shirt from Rossi, he asked no-one in particular, "How can I ever tell her that our son..." He stopped, visibly moved and unable to continue.

Sensing that his friend was barely keeping himself together, Dave got up and put his hand on one of Aaron's slumped shoulders.

"Shh, Hotch. Jack is going to make it. Now let's get you into some dry clothes." Gently he steered the other man towards the door.

Seeing Hotch in such a state was heartbreaking. But to Prentiss, it was even worse when the normally stoic Unit Chief put up no resistance and simply allowed himself to be led out of the room. She and Morgan looked at each other in shock and hopelessness.

"We'll let you know the minute we hear anything." she called after the older agents but got no reply.

***

When Hotch returned some 20 minutes later, he looked slightly better. His clean shirt was neatly tucked in, the dried blood removed from his hands and face and the nasty gashes stitched and dressed.

He also seemed to have regained a measure of his usual composure. The Unit Chief walked with his head up and shoulders squared. Only his eyes betrayed his true feelings of complete disconsolation. Prentiss smiled encouragingly at him as he sat down in the chair he had occupied earlier.

"What have you done with Rossi?" she teased her supervisor.

"Garcia phoned. He's been summoned to a debriefing with Strauss and the Director. He'll be back soon."

There was silence for several moments. Hotch looked at his two young agents. He knew they must be exhausted and were only there to support him.

"Prentiss, please take Morgan home. You both need some sleep. Jack could be in surgery for hours yet."

He raised a bandaged hand as both Emily and Derek started to protest. "Please. You've been looking after me long enough." He looked significantly at each one of them in turn. He knew they understood his message.

Morgan gave an exaggerated sigh but go to his feet.

"Come on Prentiss. Take me home and give me some lovin'!" he said grinning.

"You only wish!" retorted Prentiss, rolling her eyes in mock disgust.

Hotch smiled slightly at their banter and took comfort in knowing how much they cared for each other. He also knew that extended to him but he had leaned on them enough.

"Thank you." He said quietly. "For everything."

Morgan nodded and Prentiss went over and touched Hotch briefly on his shoulder.

"Call us when you hear something or if you need anything, okay? It doesn't matter what time it is..."

Hotch nodded and watched as the agents walked down the corridor and out into the night. Then he closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair to continue to wait...

***


	4. Chapter 4

The Unit Chief must have dozed off because the next time he opened his eyes he found that Dave had returned and was snoring softly in a chair nearby. He looked up at the clock: 3:44AM. Why hadn't anyone been in to talk to him? He focussed on brushing away his negative thoughts, figuring that Jack must still be alive if there had been no news to the contrary.

"Jack Hotchner?"

A figure wearing surgical garb had appeared at the ICU doorway.

Hotch was on his feet in a flash as Rossi stirred and looked up anxiously.

"Yes, I'm Jack's father. How is he, Doctor?"

The doctor looked gravely at the man standing in front of him. "As you know, Jack lost a great deal of blood. He is currently in critical condition..."

Hotch tried to swallow but found his mouth too dry. "Go on, please."

"Despite the obvious severity of his injuries, I am cautiously optimistic, Mr. Hotchner. We've stopped the haemorrhaging and begun to replace his blood volume. Although still weak, he is showing signs of responding. Jack's vital signs are stable and unless we encounter unforeseen complications, I expect a full recovery."

Dave explosively blew out the breath he had been holding and grinned at his friend. "I told you, Aaron. He's a fighter just like his dad."

Hotch was numb with relief. He pulled himself together though, to shake the doctor's hand.

"Thank you."

The doctor smiled slightly. "You've got one tough kid. I'm happy we got the ending we wanted."

"May I see him?"

"They're just getting him settled but I'll have a nurse come and get you. I'm sure Jack would love to see a familiar face when he wakes up."

"Notice how he didn't say 'a pretty face'?" Rossi remarked dryly.

Hotch ignored the jest. Something was still bothering him. He frowned and turned back to the surgeon.

"Doctor?"

"Yes?"

"What about... what about scarring?"

The doctor understood. "Jack was very lucky. The wound entries were clean, there was little actual damage. We had a plastic surgeon in the OR and she's confident that there will be very little visible marking. And any residual scarring will fade as he grows older."

Hotch closed his eyes in gratitude. He had been dreading the possibility of Jack having to relive the nightmare for the rest of his life.

"I appreciate your efforts. Please thank your team for me."

The doctor looked at the father kindly. "It looks like you needed some good news. Try and get some sleep when you're in with your son. Jack is going to need a lot of TLC for the next few weeks."

Aaron gave a tired nod. "I can't wait to give it to him."

***

Hotch pulled the chair as close to the bed as possible and sat down. He was exhausted; he hadn't slept properly for months. But he was desperate to see his son open his eyes so he fought the fatigue. Instead, he picked up one of Jack's hands and contented himself with watching his boy's chest rise and fall. There was no pain in the youngster's face, which was a huge relief.

Nevertheless, Hotch was not completely consoled.

"I'm sorry." He murmured. "I've tried so hard to protect you..."

The agent sighed. "Didn't do such a good job, did I? I promise I'll do better. I hope you know that I'd do anything in this world to make sure you're happy and safe..."

He began to gently stroke Jack's forehead.

"You know, Jack, you saved me tonight. If you hadn't been there, I think I would have killed the bad guy and that wouldn't have been right. You see, daddy is just supposed to catch the criminals. We put them in jail and the law decides how to punish them. I almost forgot that because I was so angry at the bad guy for hurting you and mommy... and me. And if I had killed him, I would have been lowering myself to his level."

Hotch smiled a little. "You probably don't understand all this but that's okay. Someday... someday I'll explain it to you. I was just trying to do the right thing. I don't always get it right and I just hope you'll forgive me..."

Jack stirred slightly and a slight grimace passed across his pale features.

Hotch squeezed the tiny hand, bent forward and kissed the child. "I'm so proud of you, buddy. And I love you..."

He rested his forehead against the mattress and felt his eyelids begin to close until he was suddenly jerked awake by a small voice.

"L've... you... da- ddy."

Hotch smiled his first real smile in a very long time. He then rose from the chair and carefully arranged himself on the bed to be closer to his son. Jack moaned slightly as his father gently helped him to snuggle up against him but then looked up at his dad and grinned sleepily. Hotch wrapped his arm around the youngster, avoiding the bandages and soon heard steady breathing. Only then, with the knowledge that his boy was safe, did Aaron finally allow himself to fall into a deep sleep of his own.

***

It was early afternoon by the time Haley was discharged and she & JJ arrived at Jack's room in the ICU. There they discovered both male Hotchners still sleeping peacefully.

"They've been like that for hours." A nurse commented quietly as she adjusted the child's IV. "Agent Hotchner looked as though he needed the rest as much as little Jack so we've simply left them to it. I don't think a bomb going off would wake either of them."

"They're both going to be alright?" asked Haley anxiously from the doorway.

The nurse nodded reassuringly. "Yes. The doctors are very pleased with how your son is responding. And the agent's injuries are superficial for the most part, aside from some badly bruised ribs."

Haley started to enter the room but stopped abruptly.

"Haley?" JJ asked, concerned. "Are you okay?"

"It just hit me... I've never realized how much alike they are. And not just physically."

"Jack has the best of both of his parents." JJ smiled.

Haley shook her head. "He's his father's son: incredibly stubborn..."

JJ looked at her with sympathy but the ex-Mrs. Hotchner continued,

"...but so strong and resilient..."

"He also gets that strength from his mother." JJ said firmly.

Haley continued to watch the sleeping pair on the bed. "Maybe a little... but overall Jack is more like Aaron..."

She moved forward to the bed. She carefully rested one hand on her ex-husband's forearm and her other on her son's head. "I used to worry about that..." she said softly. "But this whole nightmare has gotten me thinking... about Aaron, his job and how good he is at it, and about Jack. Jack being so like his dad has helped me stay sane all these months. It was so comforting to have a smaller Aaron around. Now, JJ, I wouldn't change their likeness for anything."

JJ nodded in understanding. In a low voice, she murmured, "They are both great human beings, Haley." She then lightly touched the other woman's elbow. "I'll wait outside. Take your time and I'll drive you home when you're ready."

The media liaison left the room but watched through the window as Haley sat down to keep vigil over the two in the bed. JJ saw her wipe tears away and smile softly as she witnessed a still-sleeping Jack shift closer to Hotch, who unconsciously tightened his wrap on his son.

JJ turned, suddenly feeling as though she was intruding. After all the horror and sadness of the past months, just maybe this family had a chance for some happiness after all.

THE END.

_A/N: I'm not a Haley fan & I don't really want Hotch & Haley back together so I deliberately left this vague. But I DID want the light bulb to finally go off for her... that Aaron really is a good man and a good father. Hope this came across, please let me know. Thanks for reading!_


End file.
